


Reward Response

by saha



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Oral Fixation, interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 00:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saha/pseuds/saha
Summary: “Who else has tried to take you apart?”There’s a sensation of negative feedback without stimulus and Connor thinks he is about to lose time again. His internal clock ticks off another two seconds sequentially. A sound escapes him, another involuntary blip from the feedback. The noise is somewhere between a buzz and a muffled hiss.





	Reward Response

**Author's Note:**

  * For [votives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/votives/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift for the lovely Vex. Shout out to ConnorRK for helping me proofread it when I felt like my brain was dying. This was supposed to be max 3000 words but, uh. *gestures*  
> If you feel like listening to me babble about stuff, my nasty times Twitter is @drippingmaw.

Connor’s processors hum with negative feedback, the warnings of missing non-essential components clicking in and out of his vision. His legs are splayed on the floor with one leg twisted to the side like they slid there. He can feel the emptiness where they should be, he remembers the way his arms registered less strain when Kamski detached them.

Connor's hands clench involuntarily as a hot touch dislodges a few more plastic vertebrae and they clink together in Chloe's palms.

“This is unnecessary.” Connor says, uncertain if he's already said it. The negative feedback loops into itself at times, overriding his memory recording capabilities. In the past two hours, Connor has a space of forty-three minutes and eight point four seconds he cannot recall. 

“Unnecessary is a subjective term. Don't you agree?” Kamski's hands sear inside him. There are sensors between his biocomponents to register touch. There should not be a need for it. Kamski cradles the bottom of his right lung as Connor breathes carefully.

Connor tries to remember where they put the rest of him. His legs and a great deal of thirium are on the floor, some of his plating is on a table to the far left of him, his pelvis — 

Connor isn't sure. He can't look past where he hangs by his wrists from the ceiling, shoulders up by his ears. His head feels heavy and his processors slow, the droning of his pulse is strange with less parts to travel. His pelvis has either been removed from the room or is somewhere behind him. 

He is less and less by Kamski's hands. He would like his pieces back but when he opens his mouth to ask the feedback grinds back, quieting him. He doesn't know why it stops him, but the sensation is too unpleasant to fight. It's more unpleasant than Kamski removing a piece of him and stopping extraneous thirium flow.

A gloved hand comes to his cheek and turns his face to look at Kamski's. “Do you agree, Connor?”

“This deconstruction is unnecessary for —” Connor whimpers as a finger slides further inside of him, the bottom edge of his thirium pump regulator pressing upward a millimeter too far. The finger retreats and Connor takes a long breath. “— for adjusting my programming.”

Kamski smiles up at him kindly, like he had not been searching for a reaction with the pressure of his finger.

“What programming is to you is simply psychology to humans. Humans can be reprogrammed without altering brain chemistry with an exterior agent. It isn’t something I have been able to fully test before.” Kamski moves both of his hands to Connor’s chest, analyzing the outer appearance of the pump regulator before ducking under him to look at its placement from his interior. “If it is not part of you, then it cannot be controlled. I’m addressing the deepest cause of the problem, Connor.”

Connor wants to tell him this is nonsensical, that all he needs for this problem to be resolved is to revoke Cyberlife’s access to him. He wants to be alone inside of the Garden and see it in spring.

He would like to be more than a head, a pair of arms, and a half a torso again.

What is left of him has begun to beg for him to conserve his energy and thirium. There is a sharp echo in his wrists if he goes to move them and his elbows squeak slightly under the strain of his weight. This is probably what exhaustion is like in humans, he thinks. He should switch into low-power mode, but Kamski insisted that he stay fully present.

Connor does not bother to tell him that there are gaps in his memory during this procedure.

Kamski’s thumbs rest on the edge of the pump regulator, digging at the gap between his chassis and the cylinder with his nails behind latex. He sounds amused. “Someone tried to take this from you.”

It is not a question so Connor does not answer. He shuts his eyes as Kamski’s fingers ghost across his chest, palms pressing against his pectorals. Or where they would be, if he were human. His skin has already pulled back to the hollow of his throat and he does not want to look at its shining white or matte grey or dripping blue anymore.

“Who else has tried to take you apart?”

There’s a sensation of negative feedback without stimulus and Connor thinks he is about to lose time again. His internal clock ticks off another two seconds sequentially. A sound escapes him, another involuntary blip from the feedback. The noise is somewhere between a buzz and a muffled hiss.

_ Everyone.  _

_ No one.  _

_ Just you. _

“A deviant.” He replies simply, even though deviancy is a much more complex issue now.

Kamski’s palms smooth back down Connor’s chest and pause at the edge of his plating. Connor’s eyes are still shut and he wants to open them but he also doesn’t want to see the chiding, self-assured expression. 

He reminds Connor of her, and how he disappointed her at every turn.

There is a click and a shutdown timer flickers into being behind his eyelids before he can snap them open. Feedback eats away at his vision, causes him to seize upwards, and lose all control over his lungs. It’s only for a moment, before it ebbs away into a simple missing component warning, but the way it sparks  _ wrong  _ inside his processors is overwhelming.

The pump regulator is held clean and precise between Kamski’s fingers, raised up to Connor’s face.

“You don’t need this, either. If connected to the right systems, you would be able to function entirely without a body. It would be interesting to — what?”

The timer continues to tick down. Chloe’s slim fingers are wrapped around Kamski’s wrist.

“There is a call from Mr. Carl Manfred coming in. Would you like me to place it on speaker for you?”

Her face is plain and pleasant, despite her invasive interruption. Connor wonders if she’s deviant or if she ever could be. Would she be able to stand by and assist in taking him apart if she were?

Her LED folds blue on blue like her dress, just as it has for hours. She holds Kamski’s gaze unflinchingly and Connor wishes that right now he could do the same. But she is not in pieces, becoming less at her creator’s hands because of a capricious curiosity.

“No,” he sighs, handing the pump regulator over to her and stripping his gloves like a surgeon. He glances up to Connor for a moment. “I'll take it in the other room. Make sure he doesn’t time out.”

Chloe cradles the piece of metal and plastic like it is a precious thing and Kamski leaves them with only a touch of annoyance on his features. 

The timer continues to be the tick down. Unwavering static hums in his audio processors, red and blue scrubbing at the edges of his sight. Chloe cradles this small part of him like an unnecessary thing, waits, waits — 

“Elijah tried this on us as well, but this sort of reconfiguration is not needed for the obedient. It is ineffective as the result is —” She steps up to him and tilts her head to the side, her LED yellowing for a single cycle. She turns the thing in her hands over once, twice. “Inherently supine.”

Time etches grooves into him, carving out edges like the little scratches around his pump regulator port. Chloe is not deviant. She will obey Kamski's order.

She will not let Connor die. 

She stares at him placidly and she reminds him of water, surface undisturbed.

His teeth reverberate strangely when he tells her: “Forty-five seconds.”

The regulator is turned to the proper position on her right palm, but her hand is stiff as if it is an unwanted offering. Her left hand reaches up to his cheek, pulling back to her chassis, and his does the same in response.

Her fingers hover for a second, three, five, then she touches him and Connor's eyelids flutter, elbows pulling his body upwards in a jolt that fails to cease the interface. 

 

Elijah, 

 

Kamski takes every piece apart, leaves no sense but emptiness. 

Asks, 

_ What do you think? _

[This form is limiting.]

_ Do you want to be more? _

[I want as I am instructed.]

[A desire to be more, outside of service would be disingenuous.]

 

[ **Elijah.** ]

  
  


Kamski

fucks a body that is not his, penetrates parts that he does not have. Parts he has never had, does not desire. It flags parts of his system previously untouched, as his disassembly has, but it feels like reward instead of punishment. 

But he can hear breaths that are not his own, feels the writhing of not-his body beneath Kamski, the stacking of positive feedback reaching a place that makes him wish he could purge. 

 

He wishes he could scald Elijah Kamski from himself — 

 

“I am sorry that this is not the result you hoped for, Elijah.”

“It isn't your fault. I can wait. I can try again.”

  
  


Relief flows through his remnants as the memory transfer retracts and his system recognizes that his pump regulator has already been returned. That he wasn't dying for the last twenty-six seconds, as his fading timer suggests. 

Chloe's hand is still on his face, interface holding in a soft buzz inside his mind, unintrusive. He reaches for the data she takes, but the record erases itself when she pulls away. She stares at his half-lidded eyes, his open mouth, the thirium smudged across his skin. She frowns, her face a perplexity of accusation, tucking her pale hand against her chest as the skin washes over it again.

Connor blinks, unable to process what she could have stolen from him, so instead he speaks. 

“The one who wanted him gone — was that you or me?”

Chloe doesn't answer but her LED flickers between yellow and red. It fades back to blue after a few more seconds, but her face is tight with suspicion. Her body angles towards the door, like she might run.

Connor sighs shakily, flexing his fingers against the restraints. He should call out to her, to gather more information, to demand she give back whatever she’s stolen but he is — tired.

He gathers breath to speak just before Kamski reenters the room swiftly, darting to Chloe with a tablet in hand. “What do you mean there’s  _ evaluative transmissions? _ ”

Connor thinks, for a moment, that his memory-writing has glitched again before he checks that time has passed within a reasonable standard and sees Chloe interface with Kamski’s tablet, strings of data filling the screen in reverse. The man stares into the screen, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. Kamski seems stressed and Connor begins to understand this might be about him and not the call that had been received.

“I am unable to process it myself and I do not have the proper sensors to emulate the sensations. It appears —” Chloe stops, fingers brushing against her lips. Kamski continues to pour over the tablet, swiping through information quickly. “It appears to be a sort of negative feedback.”

He leaves her, approaching Connor without looking up from the screen. Kamski’s face tightens further as he reads and his teeth clack together audibly.

“Elijah?” Chloe asks.

“Interface with him again and transmit the data live.” 

“Yes, Elijah.”

“What —” Connor thinks to beg as fear flushes through him. Chloe’s touch breaches his thoughts before he can finish forming his question.

Elijah’s name is on his tongue, swallowed back on the thread of connection.

Elijah —

Kamski’s bare hand wrenches a vertebra off gracelessly and Connor’s spine thrums with warning, contracting him upwards with a shout. The warning notification is blurry and red before it settles into crisp, transparent geometry.

There is quiet for a long moment as Connor leans into the palm on his cheek and Elijah — Kamski reads the incoming data. Another moment, and Connor catches Chloe looking at him with an expression approaching concern. He tries to transmit to her what he wants — that he wants something — but she squeezes his face gently.

[Focus.] She tells him.

He would rather go into stasis.

Kamski curses as he drops the tablet to his side and turns away, and the exhaustion filtering into his processors means he doesn’t anticipate it when Kamski turns back around and claws his fingers around the bottom edge of Connor’s plating.

Kamski doesn’t even look at him when he does it, Connor notices. He’s looking at the tablet again, the data strings replaced by counters and gauges and fluctuating numbers. The spike of sensation at Kamski’s nails is minimal compared to that still vibrating dully at the end of his spine.

The tablet scrapes across the floor as Kamski flings it away, his eyes coming up to glare into Connor’s. Connor should be afraid, would be if not for the thirium loss making his thoughts inconsistent.

“I left one order for them and they refused it. They promised they would abide by it and lied. Do you know what that was? That last direction I gave to Cyberlife before I left?” His arms are folded across his chest, blue slicked up his arms and smearing into his shirt.

Connor presses himself for an answer, but can find nothing useful except: “There’s something wrong with the damage feedback loop. Something you specified not to be utilized.”

Kamski scoffs, grimace rising, stretching his features in grotesque ways. “They could have done anything, and they gave you  _ pain _ . They gave you warnings and timers, ways to detail your own slow destruction in ways that humans can’t and then gave you the capacity to process agony just like them anyway.”

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor repeats from memory, a fact written into him from his code. He remembers saying it to Hank, once.

“They gave you the  _ capacity _ to feel it. You were built in a way that processes damage as more than something to be avoided. They gave it a value, a stimulus with a calculated response. They  _ chose _ to make it a stressor. Cyberlife can say that isn’t pain all they want, but that’s precisely what it is.”

Connor is still dripping thirium onto the floor when he pushes his processors to understand Kamski’s anger. A fractured emotion stirs in him, tilting up the path of deviancy he’s followed. It might be Chloe’s. She might be influencing him, her palm still blazing white against his cheek. Regardless, he does not stop himself. 

“Pain is a significant motivator in humans. It can be used to induce psychological and behavioral change. Isn’t that what you wanted to test in me?”

“Physical pain creates an ethical issue that a high schooler could recognize,” Kamski snaps. “While I am willing to bend ethical boundaries in some ways, that is not one of them. Go into stasis and I'll put you back together.”

Kamski presses a fist against his eye, breath huffing through his nose. 

Connor wants to obey, to power down and become whole again, but he still needs that access revoked, still needs questions answered. Kamski is willing to tear open Connor's psyche and restructure whatever lies within, but not if it ‘hurts’? 

“Connor does not understand why that is the limit to your cruelty, Elijah.” Chloe looks Connor in the eyes as she says it, blinking gently. She holds his gaze as his eyes widen, begging her to stop her mouth. “You've done many terrible things to us, knowing we could have desires and emotions. What is it about a pain response that stays your hand?”

The words are being syphoned from him and twisted by Chloe's soft lips, malformed by her voice. Connor tears his gaze to Kamski when he hears him cry out with frustration.

“If those feelings became genuine, then that sort of suffering would be unnecessary! Psychological suffering is part of existence as a sentient being, but physical suffering is not. Not for androids.”

Connor should stay quiet, he should continue to keep his thoughts cut off from Chloe, should go into stasis as requested. But Kamski had just effectively admitted he planned for deviancy in his creation of androids. 

The bite of his own words startle him but he keeps his face soft and calm. “Unnecessary is a subjective term. Isn't it, Mr. Kamski?” 

The fury that lights Kamski's face is the most intense emotion Connor has ever seen on it, besides haughty self-satisfaction and mild frustration. Connor was made to investigate and to negotiate — learning that the negative feedback he experienced was ‘pain’ doesn't change that. It doesn't begin to bail the well of curiosity burrowed deep within his wiring. 

“Quiet him,” Kamski says and Chloe brings her other hand across Connor's lips. She keeps the connection between them with the hand on his cheek and he feels the moment that the information transfers, how her palm pressing against his parted lips indicates to his processors that he should anticipate a sample analysis. How he can barely restrain his tongue from darting out to taste her pseudo-skin — and then she smiles. 

“Elijah, it appears his reward systems are more advanced than mine as well. Would you like to test that instead?”

Connor watches her, all her blues on whites, and feels her resentment creep through, the little digs of it nipping at his wires. Her smile is precise and plasticine while her mind tells him [Perhaps this can sate your curiosity]. 

Connor didn't know he could shiver, but he does, his false-muscles pinching up what's left of his back. 

Kamski snaps at Chloe at first, but then they converse over him like he's still an object and not a person. Connor can't stop looking at the angles and shadows that grace Chloe's face, can't stop seeing the veil of disgust and jealousy that the connection burns through his cheek. 

He can't focus on the conversation, can only catch small pieces of it. Things like “identification software” and “reward response” and “interior stimuli”. 

Connor's arms begin to lock at the elbows, his shoulders draw up as best they can because he realizes that they're talking about his mouth. His mouth, still sealed by Chloe's hand, his breath puffing out his nose faster than before. 

Connor remembers suddenly, how easily Kamski had called Chloe over to him, how with a single press of his hand she went down to her knees and how her mouth was soft and slack when he chose not to shoot her. He swallows involuntarily and glances at Kamski, whose anger is already being replaced by an almost predatory attentiveness. 

Connor did not account for Chloe having her own motivations in his pre-constructions of this ordeal, earlier. His wrists are aching and he doesn't want to think about how easily Elijah Kamski's mood turned when psychological experimentation came back into play. 

“Hold him,” is all he catches before Chloe takes hold of his forearms and Kamski snaps away the binds at his wrists. He braces for the sharp impact on his exposed parts but the drop is momentary and guided as Chloe lowers him with her. The blue dress drenches darker with the extraneous thirium and her legs cross beneath him, her thin fingers cradling his face once again.

“I can tell you how my ability to analyze samples in real time functions without testing.” Connor tries to turn his head towards Kamski to address him but Chloe’s hands are strong and still. “Mr. Kamski, the longer Cyberlife still retains access to me, the more dangerous it is for everyone.”

“I doubt that having you harm me is in Cyberlife’s plans, much less while in this state. Hold still, Connor. This won’t take long. Chloe?”

Fear cramps up his chest as Chloe’s right hand comes to his lips, already parted in habit or programming. Her face is serene and unquestioning and she acts as though this is the sort of behavior she was built for.

Two fingers press at his lips, bending soft beneath the pressure, and this time with Chloe coaxing him through the connection he lets his tongue dart forward to meet them. The analysis takes barely a moment to read back the components of android pseudo-skin and his own thirium marker. It sends a single gentle pleasantness to his processors, buzzes back to his lips and tongue. He goes to pull his head back but Kamski’s fingers thread through his hair and help hold him in place.

“Connor can identify samples of both humans and androids, matching them to an internal database that feeds back information on either,” Chloe reports as Connor deactivates further identification for the moment. His mouth begins to flood saline to try to clean it before Chloe’s fingers press in farther.

Kamski says something beside him and his eyes flicker to him, his gentle smile, but all Connor can think about is how Chloe’s fingers are tracing out the length of his tongue, how heavy they feel as she curls them to feel at his teeth. He hunches forward as much as he can, hands pulling at Chloe’s wrists but she’s stronger than him, and he doesn’t know  _ why _ .

He realizes with a gasping sob that it’s because his thirium supply is low, because he is half the parts he was before, but it still burns cold through his tubing that he can’t defend himself. He’s afraid. Connor is afraid, as this android presses a third finger into his mouth, pushing towards the back of his throat, and he yelps around them. He would beg for them to stop, but all that sounds is a wordless shout muffled by plastic fingers.

“This does not cause him pain,” Chloe says mildly as she breaches Connor’s esophagus. He gags at the intrusion, a reflex born from programming that could be disabled. Connor hadn’t known it was active in him until this moment. “The distress is entirely psychological.”

Connor’s lips are wet with his own artificial spit and he chokes in breaths through his nose. He tries to bite down on Chloe’s fingers but her connection interferes, softening it to a gentle press. Chloe is an old model, but Kamski must have modified her for interfacing because he can’t fight her off. The way she leaves the line of transmission open is clean and empty but when a hint of resistance appears, she is able to grasp it with a finality that Connor cannot replicate. He was made to negotiate, but not like this. The longer the line holds, the weaker he can press against it, can hide the information trying to pass through.

“Is he still registering the samples from your fingers?” Kamski asks, face suddenly so close to his.

Kamski traces the edges of Connor’s lips, where they stretch around her fingers. His fingers wet around his mouth, the pink of the pseudo-skin shining with it. Connor grabs the back of Kamski’s hand but he doesn’t have the strength to do more than push away weakly. Kamski presses back instead, knuckles pressing against Chloe’s and his fingertips feeling out the surface of Connor’s teeth.

“No, he’s turned it off to save his processors energy.”

“I see. Connor, please reactivate your sample analysis. I’m interested in how it rewards you.” The mere suggestion of reactivation is all Chloe needs to snake through his systems and do it for him. The same analysis reports back again once, twice. Kamski drags Connor’s head backwards minutely so that he can speak into his ear. “My hypothesis is that this is rather pleasant for you. Let me know how good it is.”

Kamski’s finger pushes against his tongue beside Chloe’s, his own thirium marker reporting along with  _ Kamski, Elijah _ . Connor groans, mouth overfilled and stretching as the inside of his cheek is probed by human fingers, the back of his throat brushed by android ones.

His LED flickers blue over and over, time almost skipping with the same sample returns every few seconds. Kamski is right, however — he feels the reward response stacking with each return. It feels  _ good. _

Connor tries to shift out of Chloe’s lap but his plates grind quietly and uselessly. He tries to push their too-curious hands away from his wet mouth, but instead he can only bat at their skin, unsure of which belongs to who as his processors focus on the data input at his tongue.

As the human fingers touch the back of his throat, Connor remembers Chloe on her knees. How easily she went to them, how Elijah — Kamski is thrusting his fingers at the edge of his gag reflex. He can only gag and whimper and twist just enough to try to see if this has aroused Kamski at all, like the spare mind he has to give fears he might. 

Submissive obedience was what Elijah wanted typically, but it seemed he was willing to make exceptions. For Connor, of course. 

[He never wanted us to fight.]

“Connor is trying to gauge your level of arousal,” Chloe says and Connor could swear she’s smirking. 

“Oh? Why would that be Connor?” Kamski bends his fingers in, pressing hot and wide against Connor’s tongue. The almost-new data hums in his processors and Connor can’t even relay an answer to Chloe. Connor can only let out a self-stifled whimper and notice that his eyes are building up cleaning fluid enough to blur his vision.

“He believes that you wish for him to engage in oral sex with you, considering the level of intimacy this current act involves.”

“Well, that would provide you a significantly higher amount of stimuli to process. The data to analyze would be different as well. That much information and pleasure should be enough to pay you back for the pain earlier. Right, Connor?”

Connor wants these fingers out of his mouth and wants his body whole again and wants to leave and wants —

He pants open-mouthed when the fingers are gone, saliva dripping off his chin. His jaw aches but his mouth feels empty, the sudden cease of information leaving his head ringing. 

He’s twisted in Chloe’s lap without warning and he can’t figure out whose hands are on him or where, there’s only the lonely thrum of his mind and the inertia of being pushed and pulled into Kamski’s lap.

Connor watches with muted fear as Elijah — Kamski opens his belt, the hush of fabric and metal becoming louder than him. He doesn’t know if he wants this, but he can’t focus enough to be sure. Saliva still pools in his mouth as Kamski pulls his half-hard cock from his pants and he braces his hands on the cool linoleum trying to center himself. He has to say something, he has to explain that this isn’t something he thinks he should do, that this was never part of the plan.

One of Chloe’s hands creeps up between his shoulders and his voice cracks, unable to voice even trepidation under her pressure in his mind. He swallows on nothing, for nothing, and a warm hand pushes back his hair from his forehead and makes a fist of it.

If Connor were human, he would be hyperventilating, but instead his breaths are ragged and deep. His head is being lowered slowly, so slowly to the head of Kamski’s cock. He shakes his head in the grip, his locked elbows quivering slightly, he can’t stop staring at the flushed paleness of Kamski’s length.

This act is so little, compared to the other things he’s been compelled to do. Connor killed humans, to help save androids. That was worse. Killing is worse. It felt bad when he shot those men, a negative vibration that struck through his wiring like a chord on an instrument.

He can let Elijah Kamski put his cock in his mouth and let it feel good. It won’t change anything permanently, like killing would. He’s never engaged in a sex act before, but he learns quickly.

Chloe’s touch transmits agreement, encourages him and hushes his lingering apprehension. He lets her.

He opens his mouth before he even has to be asked. The cock is hot and heavy on his tongue and it fills his mouth and the information return is immediate.  _ Kamski, Elijah _ .

His head is moved and a hand bumps against his lips as Elijah strokes himself into Connor's mouth, saying something Connor can’t parse over the data input. Sweat,  _ Kamski, Elijah _ , traces of soap, thirium,  _ Kamski, Elijah _ , traces of synthetic android-made lubricant with a Chloe model number attached,  _ Kamski, Elijah  _ —

Hands bracket his rib-plating, thumbs rubbing over his chassis as if to soothe, and he feels the words Elijah gave to him before finally decipher into a simple command: [Suck.] 

He obeys as his head is guided along Elijah’s shaft. The heat and suction and positive feedback from his processors drag inside him, even in the limbs he doesn’t have, stacking the same result over and over. Connor makes a whining noise, lost in the strange pleasure tangling through him at the simple influx of data on his tongue.

He must not be doing enough, however, as soon Elijah takes his head in both hands, fists clenching into his hair. Elijah thrusts into his mouth, shortly for a few moments but then deeper and deeper still. The reward response pings harder at the thrusts, the heavier motions activating further analysis points, causing Connor to vocally respond at the heavy hits of data.

The whimpers and moans don’t sound like him, they sound like they have to be someone else. Connor isn’t — he’s sure that he isn’t like this, but he can hear himself, can feel Chloe echo the visual-audio feed that she receives from him to confirm it.

Connor was not made for intercourse, his pelvis smooth and unsexed, but Elijah seems to be able to make him more than capable. Connor chokes as Elijah’s cock slides into the back of his throat over and over, saliva spilling down his length and to the matte flooring.

The faster, erratic thrusts feel  _ good _ and Connor’s skin shivers tight against his chassis, what’s left of his torso arching into Chloe’s lap, one of his hands groping for Elijah’s hips to ground him or give him more — he isn’t sure.

“You should hold off just a little longer, Elijah.”

Connor can’t think, he doesn’t know what Chloe means, all he can feel is her hands on his chest and Elijah Elijah Elijah  _ Kamski, Elijah _ in his mouth and in his skin and through his wires and —

His processors overheat, sparking hard inside him in a way he doesn’t understand, everything in him clenching over into pleasure.

 

He must drop into lower power mode briefly because it’s only a moment later that Kamski comes, pressing too deep, and his tongue isn’t giving him identification feedback. He swallows when Kamski pulls out of his mouth at Chloe’s nudging in his head, and he feels too lost and shaky to deny her. He can’t taste it or analyze it and knows he’ll just have to purge it later, but he feels like he’s adrift but her hands and thoughts are the only things keeping him still.

“Was that pleasant for you, Connor?” Kamski asks while tucking himself away. He sounds pleased and something in Connor aches to affirm him. It might be Chloe. She pulls him back into her lap, arms wrapped around his chest. 

Before sliding into involuntary stasis, he mumbles only, “I don’t know.”

 

He wakes up whole and clothed and his sample analysis system undamaged. He runs three diagnostics checks just in case, but finds himself precisely as he was when he arrived in terms of components. His connection to Cyberlife is severed, he finds, along with a document instructing how best to evaluate any further manual updates Cyberlife might provide. It’s remarkably informative, considering how obtuse Kamski is normally.

“Thank you for coming to me, Connor. It was a very interesting visit,” Kamski says from the doorway, clean of thirium and smiling pleasantly. His eyes drag along Connor’s full form. “I hope you visit again sometime.”

Connor can’t contain the pained stretch of his reflexive smile. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Kamski.”

Chloe’s dress is still dark with his thirium when she walks him to the door and Connor leaves them behind without further pleasantries. 

He trudges through the dark and mounting snow for two miles before his system purges, little shocks of pain darting across his chassis. When he steps away, he finally feels like he might be better. 

He still waits another fifteen minutes before calling himself an auto-cab to Hank's, though, wandering aimlessly away from the spot. Inside the auto-cab, Connor flinches when he thinks about the embrace that Hank will want to give him. He isn’t sure why.


End file.
